


Lycaon

by BloodEarthAndInk



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Body Horror, Cannibalism, Gen, Mythology References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 21:36:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10727739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodEarthAndInk/pseuds/BloodEarthAndInk
Summary: A retelling of the story of Lycaon set during the days of Númenor’s downfall.





	Lycaon

_In my studies of the lore and myth of that time marked black by history, I have found among the peoples of Gondor and Arnor there exists many a tale of cruelty, passed down from the days of Númenor’s downfall. Cruelty not only caused at the behest of Sauron, but which existed within the hearts of men as well. Among those exagerated and fantastic tales, preserved as warnings that men may not forget what evil they are capable of and let their guards down, none stands in my memory so clearly as the tale of  Rabôzîr of Hyarnustar_

– _Loremaster_ _Finyon of Minas Tirith, The Light in it’s Gloaming: Myths and Tales of Fallen_ _Númenor_

 

In the time just before The Downfall, in the region of Hyarnustar, there lived a minor lord who was called  Rabôzîr. Though his realm was small and he held little political power, he was prosperous and wealthy, and what is more, Rabôzîr was a proud man, and ambitious. He sought to gain power and the favor of those close to the king, and he boasted of his wealth saying that it rivaled even that of Ar-Pharazôn himself.

News of this reached the King. But seeing the man for what he was, Ar-Pharazôn deemed not to execute him or cut out his tongue for his cheek, but rather to humiliate him. And so it was that, Ar-Pharazôn and the closest among his advisors and friends- among them even Sauron himself- would come to Rabôzîr’s Hall for a feast.

Rabôzîr was all too pleased for this opportunity, and preparations began immedietly for the King’s arrival. As the day approached, he sent his son, Abrazân, to go amongst their herds and choose the best amongst their cattle and sheep to be slaughtered.

As Abrazân came to his father’s fields and pastures, however, he found them blanketed with a death-quiet. The young lord frowned, pushing on ahead, but still the silence pressed in upon him, becoming a thing unto itself, filling his ears and seeming to force out all other sound. And so it went, moment after moment passing upon fields as unmoving as the grave, until finally Abrazân heard it. The weeping first came as a whisper upon the edge of his hearing. Pulling his horse around towards the sound, Abrazân sped off after it, hoping to find some answer to the thousand questions spinning through his mind.

The keening wails grew louder and louder with each thud of his horse’s hooves upon the earth, mixing in with the howls of hounds. A gathering of people grew into focus as Abrazân neared. Men, women and children huddled around one another, clinging together as though for their very lives. Hounds whined, resting their heads in their master’s laps as the women keened, and even the men’s shoulders were raked with their weeping. As they heard their lord approach, they looked up, and the people suddenly pulled themselves into a stoic silence.

These people were the sheep- and cow- heards that worked his father’s land, Abrazân realized. But where were their charges? And why were they all gathered here, weeping? When he asked this, one of the men stepped forward.

“We beg you your mercy, Lord, but in the night a great pack a wolves, like none we’d ever seen before swept through these lands.” The man said, “They rose out of nothing, as a great black cloud, and came uppon us so swiftly we could not prepare. And though we tried to fend them off there were too many. I would say that they slaughtered every bull and ewe within these lands, only they left nothing behind them when they left, not a single bone, and dissapeared as though they were a dream, a mere puff of smoke.” The man shook his head, “As news spread amongst us that this had happened across your father’s lands, Lord, we gathered here to say our goodbyes, for death can be our only reward.”

Now, Abrazân was known among his own people as a man of kind and generous spirit, and was well loved for it. At the sight of all of these gathered families, filled with fear for their loved one’s fates, he was brought to pity. He frowned, his eyes turning to their dogs, before slowly, he nodded to himself. “Give me your hounds.” He said, for he knew he could not return to Rabôzîr empty-handed, “And I will speak to my father on your behalf.”

This was done, and  Abrazân returned to his father with the hounds in tow. At the sight of his son, whom he had trusted, returning not with the finest cattle and sheep from the heard, but instead a pack of howling, barking mongrels Rabôzîr was filled with rage. “Am I to feed the King and mightiest Lords in Anadûnê _dog?”_ He demanded.

And as Abrazân attempted to tell his father of the wolves that had sprung up out of nowhere – wolves, which _he_ was sure must have been sent by the sorcery of Sauron, perhaps even by the King’s orders, that  Rabôzîr might appear foolish – his father only grew the angrier. He would not hear of such cruel treachery being committed against him, and even more so he feared that his son was correct. That this had all truly been a plan enacted to trap him for his boasting. Perhaps even that this would all end in his own death. Rabôzîr paced the hall, attempting to sort out his thoughts. Possessed by fear, as his eyes landed upon his son once more an evil and unspeakable throught took control of his mind.  He  did indeed order the hounds to be slaughtered and prepared for his guests that night. But he would not serve them to the King. No instead, he had his guards seize the young man, and Rabôzîr slit his throat himself, turning the corpse over to the kitchens that they might roast his flesh. Only the best, for the King, for Lord Sauron, and for himself, of course.

He showed no remorse through the rest of the night, and as his guests  were welcomed to his hall, they were indeed impressed with all that they saw. A place of dark woods with gilded carvings along the beams, walls lined with jewel-toned tapestries, and plates and goblets made of solid gold, which gleamed with gemstones uncounted. All seemed to go well for Rabôzîr. Yet, even as the meal was placed before them, guilt and grief seized him and he could not bring himself to eat.  As his hand curled around the handle of his knife, it seemed to him that the drunken clatter of his grand hall faded and his ears rang with the laughter of his son. And this was not hidden from the ever-probing eyes of Sauron.

“You do not eat, Rabôzîr, why is this?” the False Priest asked him, resting his fingers upon Ar-Pharazôn’s shoulder to gain his attention and stop him from eating as well.

Rabôzîr swallowed, his heart pounding in his chest. He could not tell these two men, who he had meant to _honor,_ of what he had done. Who would be so base as to sully the lips of the King with blood of men that had not been _sanctified_ in the Temple? “Who am I,” He said instead, “To allow any flesh nor wine to pass my lips before those so high above my own station?”

Sauron’s eyes gleamed with a golden sheen, never once leaving Rabôzîr’s gaze. And however much the Mortal man wished it otherwise, he found he could not look away. He sat petrified, And Sauron could see into his mind, and knew what he had done.

He gave the mortal a wolf’s grin. “Such grace you show, Lord Rabôzîr, far more than I would expect from the boastful man who claimed his halls grander than the King’s own.”  Rabôzîr cringed at the words. “But,” Sauron continued, “You are our _host_ , and this is your hall. We shall wait for _you_.”

Ar-Pharazôn balked at this, his eyes widening as he opened his mouth to protest. Sauron merely caught his gaze, however, and nodded towards Rabôzîr. And with that small motion, the King relented, a deep frown still etched across his face, and yet waving for Rabôzîr to go on.

A wave of heat crashed around the petty lord’s ears. He sat as a cornered lamb between two predators, and there was no escape for him. His hands trembling more than ever, he sliced off a chunk of the meat before him. (The flesh of his son. Ai, how easily it cut!) His head spun, and he was sure the taste of blood flooded his mouth as he chewed. As he attempted to swallow, however, the meat stuck in his throat. His hands curled into claws, and he scrabbled at his throat, suddenly choking.  He struggled to breathe,  toppling from his seat. And as he fell, a piercing scream, like the sound of a man dying cut through the air in that sumptuous hall.

Men lept from their seats, running to their lord. But all felt silent, freezing where they stood only able to stare at the sight of his writhing form upon the ground.

All save Sauron. He leaned back in his seat, not even looking at the transformation taking place before him. “Such a depth of cruelty there lies in you Rabôzîr, how had I not seen it sooner? How desperate you were to find the favor of those in a higher position than you.”

The crack of bones breaking and reshaping echoed through the room.

“And such sacrifice you have _made!_ Ai! And how can I not reward that?”

Black fur erupted through  Rabôzîr’s flesh. A low whine peeled itself from between the man’s clenched teeth – growing teeth, _sharpening_ teeth, that scraped against one another with the sound of steel against slate – as claws twisted through the flesh of his fingertips, gleaming with his own blood.

“Indeed, I cannot but _admire_ you. Ah, even your utter _gall_ in attempting to deceive me…I shall forgive that however. Now come here, take your rightful place.”

As he finished speaking, the only response to Sauron was the scrabble of nails against the ground. The Men in the hall, even Ar-Pharazôn himself, were left speechless as they watched a great black wolf stand from the very spot Rabôzîr had fallen, and curl itself up at Sauron’s feet.

Without another word, Sauron reached over, taking the plate from Rabôzîr’s place and set it before the wolf. The beast ate of it greedily.

It is rumored from that day on Sauron did _indeed_ favor Rabôzîr, and kept him as any lord might his prize hunting hound. A fierce and cunning beast he was, but whatever trace he still held of  Man’s intelligence, all humanity was gone. He was tormented constantly – some say – by a hunger that would never leave him, and those victims that it pleased Sauron to send to Rabôzîr’s greedy maw, he tore into with a maddened fury. So it had been said, atleast, but I cannot speak to the truth of such things, for if any have been sent into the chamber of the Temple where the creature was said to reside, they have never emerged again.


End file.
